


My Pathologist

by Emcee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Het, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, Post Reichenbach, Prompt Fic, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emcee/pseuds/Emcee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock notices anything and everything about people. Unfortunately, what he is noticing is Molly's attractiveness to other men. He needs to lay claim to what is his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Pathologist

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Sherlock/Molly Prompt Meme](http://purpleyindom.livejournal.com/22566.html). Prompt: Established Sherlock/Molly. Sherlock sees Molly interacting with someone (New IT guy fixing the computers? Another pathologist? Anderson? Cabbie? your choice!) and even though it's innocent he knows the guy (or girl) is mentally undressing Molly and doing naughty things to her in their mind which drives him nuts. Cue jealous/possessive!Sherlock. Molly likes jealous/possessive Sherlock. A lot.

Sherlock Holmes never thought there would be time when he would dislike being able to read a person after one quick scan.

He had prided himself on his abilities, cultivating them for years. He had built a career around them, one that was quite successful and never boring. Yet the abilities were causing him quite a bit of distress in his personal life.

That Sherlock had a personal life at all was a new experience. His life was no longer bouncing from case to case, solely living for the work. He'd been forced to slow down with his faked death and had inexplicably ended up in a relationship with Doctor Molly Hooper.

Molly Hooper. That was the problem that was plaguing him.

No, it was not Molly _per se_. She was not aware of what she was doing. She had no idea the thoughts of the men around her.

Unfortunately, Sherlock did.

He had not been unaware that Molly was desirable to other men. He remembered when she came to 221B at Christmas and both John and Lestrade had stared at her in her tight black dress. Lestrade-- who had been talking about how he had reconciled with his wife-- clearly regretted that decision as he _leered_ at Molly. At the time, Sherlock had paid no attention.

Now, he always made sure to require something at Barts when he knew the Detective Inspector had to get results from the morgue.

Sherlock _was not_ jealous. Sherlock Holmes did not get _jealous_. He had absolutely no reason to. It would be illogical. Molly was his pathologist. She had told him time and again she had been in love with him for three years. Her devotion to him was without a doubt.

But did men have to keep on _staring_ at her? It was common knowledge that Sherlock and Molly were involved. Hell, it had even been in the newspapers. Sherlock was still gossip fodder and being spotted out with a woman-- especially with the rumours about him and John-- was big news.

If anything, their relationship seemed to make Molly even _more_ popular with the opposite sex. Perhaps it was the forbidden fruit of an unavailable woman. Perhaps it was the infamy she had gained as the paramour of Sherlock Holmes.

Or maybe it was the confidence she seemed to have gained. She carried herself differently. She didn't cower before anyone anymore. Sherlock supposed now that she was able to stand up to him, everyone else seemed easy.

Whatever the answer, it was irritating to see the way men would lecherously ogle his companion, wondering what lay beneath her formless jumpers and lab coat.

Sherlock knew well what was under there. It was quite pleasing. Molly's tragic taste in clothing did nothing for her figure. But he was the only one who should know was laid under those overly cheerful knit tops. The delightful curve of her hip, leading up to small, rounded breasts topped with pointed dusky pink nipples.

Sherlock wondered exactly why the corridor in his mind palace that catalogued the men who gawked at his pathologist seemed to be directly connected to the room where all of his intimate encounters with Molly laid. It tended to send him off course easily. Some reorganization was in order.

Lestrade's presence in the laboratory always got him onto this train of thought. Sherlock had brought the Detective Inspector in to look over his test results when Molly had blundered in, eager to help. Sherlock watched the pair make inane small talk, Molly laughing far too hard at something Lestrade had said. He growled softly as he scanned the man. His wife had kicked him out of the house again. She was having another affair? Ah, no... This time, it was the Detective Inspector himself. He'd had an encounter with one of the file clerks at Scotland Yard.

If Lestrade had no respect for his own martial vows, he would have no respect for the claim Sherlock had laid on Molly.

"Do you have everything you require, Detective Inspector?" Sherlock asked irritably. "There is a murderer on the loose. I suggest you do you job and apprehend them."

Lestrade frowned as he turned away from Molly to look at Sherlock. "You're coming with me, aren't you?"

"You no longer require my assistance." There was a beeping as the computer displayed the results. "You need to go arrest the girl's uncle." He tapped the computer screen. "As the case is solved, I no longer have any interest in it. Now do go and earn your salary. Leave Doctor Hooper to do _her_ job." Sherlock smiled tightly.

Lestrade scowled at Sherlock deeply for a long moment. "Fine then. If you're going to be like that--" Lestrade turned and strode out of the laboratory.

Molly sighed, turning to Sherlock with a disapproving look on her face. "You didn't have to be so rude."

Sherlock cocked his head. "Oh didn't I?" He got off the stool he had been sitting on and approached Molly slowly. He circled her, sure in her mind, he appeared like some sort of predatory cat or some other absurd analogy. "There is a killer on the loose and the Detective Inspector was quite content to remain here and to flirt with _my_ Pathologist while the victim's sister remained at risk."

Molly's mouth twitched into a small smile. It was nearly imperceptible, but then, he wasn't the world's only Consulting Detective for nothing. "Greg was just being nice."

"Greg," Sherlock growled. He stopped in front of Molly and took a hold of her wrist. "We're calling him _Greg_ now, are we?"

Molly pressed her thin lips together tightly. She was trying to keep herself from smiling. "You're being a jealous sod."

Sherlock leaned in close to Molly, tilting his head to brush his lips against her ear. "I am keeping an eye on what is _mine_."

Molly's sharp inhalation of air was audible as Sherlock tugged her by the wrist. He walked purposefully to the supply cupboard, dragging her along with him. He closed the door behind them before pushing Molly up against the cold metal shelves.

"Sherlock, what are you--" Molly started, but was cut off but Sherlock's mouth sealing over hers. He nipped roughly at her lower lip, drawing a cry from her throat.

"You were flirting with _Greg_." He spit the man's name as if it was a curse. "Wantonly flirting right in front of me. He _wanted_ you, Molly. He wanted to do wicked things to you." Sherlock pulled himself back just enough that he could rake his gaze over her. "To this lovely, lovely body. But he's not allowed to. Is he, Molly?"

Molly shook her head as Sherlock extended her arms above her head, pinning both wrists against the shelves with one large hand. "Who is the only one allowed to do wicked things to you, Molly?"

Molly's eyes slid shut. "You are, Sherlock," her voice was a tiny mewl, already weak from lust.

"Yes, I am." With his free hand, Sherlock began to open the buttons of her jumper. He pushed aside the colourful wool to reveal the pink bra beneath. "He's not allowed to know what your lovely breasts look like in this lacy contraption." He bowed his head, capturing one of Molly's nipples, teasing it through the lace. Molly squirmed against him and cried out.

Sherlock stopped his torment of the sensitive bud too soon for Molly. She sobbed softly as he contented himself nuzzling his nose over the swell of her breast. "Who is the only one who is allowed, Molly?"

"You are!" Molly cried out as Sherlock tugged down the cups of her bra, latching onto one of her hardened nipples. Sherlock hummed against her as he sucked the small nub, his tongue working it back and forth before he pressed his teeth down against it.

"Mmm...." Sherlock tugged the nipple with his teeth before releasing it. "Have to keep it down." He moved up to take her mouth once again. "Don't want anyone to find you in here, pressed against the shelves, writhing, aching for me. Why is that, Molly?"

Molly's eyes fluttered shut. "Only you... Can..." She whimpered and her hips bucked of their own accord.

"That's right." Sherlock pressed another kiss to her mouth in reward. "Only I can see you like this. Desperate and needy." He slipped his free hand down into her skirt, delving into her knickers and feeling the heat already emanating from her. "Achingly wet." He pressed his fingers between her labia and Molly bit down on her lip to silence the cry Sherlock knew wanted to escape. He stroked her slowly, teasingly, sliding his index finger into her channel, never delving in all the way. A whimper fell from Molly's lips and he obligingly offered a second finger, but continued to only go in to the first knuckle. Molly squirmed against him, attempting to get more of him inside of her.

"Greedy Molly," Sherlock growled. He withdrew his fingers, bringing them to Molly's mouth.

She obligingly opened her lips and took the tips of his fingers into her mouth, tasting her own wetness on his skin. "Taste it," Sherlock demanded. "Taste your desire for me."

Molly's tongue slipped out over his digits, cleaning him of all her juices. "Sherlock," she gasped.

"Why were you flirting with Lestrade, Molly?" Sherlock demanded. He insinuated his leg between hers, pressing his thigh to her core. She rode against him, desperate for friction.

"I...." Molly gasped and moaned. "I wasn't."

"He was flirting with you," Sherlock growled. "Lestrade wants you, Molly. Lestrade wants to fuck you, Molly." He ran his hand down her front, grasping a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a punishing pinch, making her squeak. "But he can't fuck you, can he?"

Molly shook her head. "No, Sherlock."

"Why not?" Sherlock demanded.

Molly tilted her head back. "Because I'm yours. I'm yours, Sherlock. Oh please..."

Sherlock claimed her mouth firmly while he pushed her skirt up to her waist. He panted for air as he pulled away from her, looking into her flushed face. He released her wrists to hook his fingers into the waistband of her knickers. Molly kept her wrists up against the shelves. He smiled at her. "Good girl."

Sherlock tugged her knickers down her legs, discarding them on the floor before making quick work of his trousers and pants, shoving them down. He took hold of her wrists once again, pressing them against the metal shelves-- warmed from her body's contact-- once again.

Molly brought her legs up to wrap around his waist as he positioned himself at her entrance. Sherlock hissed softly as the tip of his prick pressed against the wet heat of her. He wanted to plunge deep into her, but he hesitated. "Say it again, Molly."

"I'm yours," Molly whispered, the plea plainly evident in her voice. "I'm yours, Sherlock. Yours to fuck."

Sherlock thrust into her with a triumphant groan. He held her to the shelves with one hand on her wrists and the other at her waist. Molly buried her head into his throat, muffling her cries against his flesh.

"Mine," Sherlock growled, his thrusts punishingly hard into her. He felt her legs tighten around him, bracing her for his fierce rhythm. "All mine."

"Always," Molly murmured breathlessly. "Always yours."

Sherlock rocked into her, the shelves supporting her rattling with every movement. A box of latex gloves fell and hit the floor. Sherlock paid no attention to it. He nuzzled at Molly's cheek, urging her to raise her head. She obliged and he kissed her once again. His tongue plundered her mouth, laying his claim on it. He withdrew only enough to nip and suck at her lips, pleased when they were swollen from his attentions. He trailed his kisses down the column of her slender throat, sucking at the pale skin. The skin bruised under his rough affections. He had marked her. He had branded her as _his_.

Satisfied with his claim and hearing her quiet whining cries, Sherlock moved his hand from her hip, insinuating it between them. Deft fingers found the swollen bud of her clitoris. Molly gasped and arched towards his touch.

The movement of his hips did not cease as he rubbed and pinched Molly's most sensitive spot. He looked into the face of his pathologist. Her eyes were closed tightly, her swollen lips parted as she took in deep, gasping breaths.

"Open your eyes, Molly," Sherlock demanded. "Watch me make you come."

Molly let her eyes flutter open. Her legs tightened around him further, clutching him to her body. Sherlock smiled at her and pressed his fingers against her while thrusting as deep into her as he could.

Molly's mouth opened further and she quickly buried her face back into his neck. He felt her muscles spasm around him, gripping him, drawing him deeper into her, urging him to lose himself.

He did not disappoint, giving himself over to his own orgasm. His eyes squeezed shut as a groan escaped his lips. He surged deep into her as the pleasure overwhelmed him.

As their climaxes crested, they both stilled, panting for air. Sherlock felt Molly's body become limp and he quickly rearranged the position of his hands to keep her supported. "There's a girl," Sherlock murmured. "Can't fall down on me."

Molly's now freed arms wrapped weakly around his shoulders. She pressed herself against his chest. Sherlock sighed, noting how he'd sweat through his shirt. "'m fine," Molly murmured.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Sherlock hummed softly, stroking a hand over her back as he pulled her away from the shelves. He reluctantly withdrew from her and set her down onto wobbly legs.

"What are you talking about?" Molly asked, shaking as she stood under her own power.

"This is what you wanted," Sherlock said. He gestured to her clothes. "You never wear a skirt to work unless you have a need for-- what's the right way to put it?-- easy access?"

Sherlock wasn't sure how it was possible, as she was already flushed from their exertions, but she managed to blush deeply at his deduction as she shoved her skirt down. She looked away, fiddling with her clothes to make herself presentable once again.

Sherlock chuckled as he watched Molly don her knickers once again. He slid his trousers back up and turned Molly to face him once again. He cupped her face.

"I guess I just like you jealous," Molly demurred.

"I wasn't jealous," Sherlock insisted. "I am simply making clear of what is mine."

Molly smiled warmly and got up on her tiptoes, kissing Sherlock sweetly. "Well, that has distinct advantages for me."

Sherlock leaned in to kiss her once more. As he met her lips, he inwardly chuckled at the notion that for as much as she was _his_ pathologist, he was _her_ consulting detective.


End file.
